The Treacherous Net
was a master chef in one of Göteborg’s most famous gourmet restaurants, with one star in the Guide Rouge .
    “Tough day, sweetheart?” he said, topping up Irene’s glass of wine.
    “Just half, thanks . . . I’ve got to get up early . . . Yes, it’s been a hell of a day. It’s kind of got me down, actually.”
    Irene sounded off about Efva Thylqvist, who refused to lighten the department’s workload by bringing in a replacement for Birgitta. Then she quickly ran through the cases they were working on. As she was telling him about Kicki Olsson’s tragic life and death, she could feel her throat closing up. In her mind’s eye she could still see the image of the dead woman, her toes almost touching the bottom of the bathtub.
    “It’s strange; I don’t usually let things get to me, but these cases are just so tragic,” she said.
    Krister nodded sympathetically. “The two girls were so young, and then you find the mother of one of them dead. It’s just too much at once. Perhaps this case is getting to you because you’re a mother yourself. Our girls might be twenty-two, but you never stop worrying,” he said.
    “This killer worries me. I don’t want another teenage girl to go the same way, but we’re not sure how he gets in touch with them. We suspect it might be through the Internet, some youth site maybe.”
    “Like LunarStorm? I remember what the twins were like when it first appeared!”
    Krister laughed at the memory.
    “Do you remember how we used to have to nag them to come away from the computer?” he said.
    “Yes, but it didn’t last long. Just a few months, then they lost interest. And they’ve always had so much going on in their free time: Katarina had her jiujitsu, Jenny had her music. These days she devotes most of her attention to cooking, but she’s started singing with a band down in Malmö,” Irene said.
    “Has she? I didn’t know that.”
    “She mentioned it when she called last week; I must have forgotten to tell you. And she’s found a new apartment.”
    “I knew about the apartment, but not the singing.”
    “And in three weeks Katarina and Felipe will be back from Natal. It’ll be so good to see them again!”
    Krister raised his glass.
    “A toast to our wonderful daughters!”

“They got the Hulk,” Fredrik informed the team before anyone else had time to speak at morning prayer.
    “Who? When? Is he dead?” Efva Thylqvist demanded.
    “He’s dead. I think we know who’s behind it, but we don’t have any proof; it’s probably the same guys who were responsible for the car bomb. As for when it happened: two thirty this morning. Apparently Hulk Hansson had a girlfriend nobody knew about. Including his wife, presumably. He slipped away last night without telling his bodyguards; he’d actually requested police protection himself. But I guess when you’re horny . . . He was shot as he left the apartment block after visiting his mistress. So now we have three murders,” Fredrik concluded with a gusty sigh.
    Efva Thylqvist pursed her lips, but chose to ignore the sigh. She’s starting to feel stressed, Irene thought with some satisfaction. Although it wasn’t really anything to celebrate, since she and her colleagues would end up under even more pressure.
    “They were standing outside waiting for him. Pumped several bullets into his chest. He died instantaneously,” Fredrik added.
    “You say ‘they.’ Were there any witnesses who saw more than one perp?” the superintendent asked.
    “Not saw, but heard. Several witnesses whose bedrooms overlook the street heard the shots, and at the same time they heard an engine start up, then a car door opening and closing before the vehicle took off with a screech of tires. My interpretation is that the perp who shot Hansson was standing by the door, while his accomplice was sitting in a car nearby. After the shots had been fired, the car drove up and the killer jumped in. They took off so fast it virtually melted the

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